Page 41 of Fading Sun

“I, Amber Benson, take you, Damien Fairmont, to be my husband and king for all eternity,” I say, and then I slide the ring onto his finger, the blood-infused metal pulsing with life as I do.

The air crackles with the finality of the words we’ve exchanged.

“And now,” the warden says. “You may kiss the bride.”

I hesitate, time slowing around me.

Damien and I have kissed a few times. Each of those kisses has been filled with passion, with promises, with hope that the connection between us is growing into something real.

But as our lips meet in a kiss that should seal our marriage with warmth, I’m struck by the hollowness of it. There are no fireworks, no butterflies. Just a sharp coldness as the duskberry bond is carved out of my heart and soul.

In seconds, the magic that tied us together gone.

It is, without a doubt, the emptiest kiss I’ve ever had in my life.

The room bursts into polite applause, but it sounds distant. As if I’m hearing it from the other end of a long tunnel. As if this is happening to someone else, and not to me.

Marriage is supposed to be a union.

And it’s ironic—almost cruel—that the ceremony meant to bind us together is what ultimately severed our connection apart.

Amber

Damien and I barely speak during the dinner that follows the ceremony.

It’s somehow even more awkward than the feast my first night here when he announced, much to my surprise, that I was to be his bride.

The applause dims as the final toast concludes, and the human servants begin to serve dessert. Wedding cake, of course. Red velvet.

I can’t say if it tastes good or not. I haven’t been able to taste much of anything for the entire meal. I might as well be eating cardboard. I barely heard the toasts, either.

As we’re finishing up, the line forms. One by one, members of the clan approach, their expressions varying from earnest respect to calculated politeness. Each handshake, each nod, each murmured word of “Congratulations, Your Majesty,” echoes hollowly in my ears.

At the same time, it’s a lifeline. It’s the only indication that they believe in me. Not just for being star touched, but also as their queen.

Damien might not want me, but as least his people do.

Sunneva is noticeably absent. Although, thinking about it, I’ve only ever seen her in the daytime.

Maybe I’ll hear from her tomorrow before we leave.

For now, I focus on the reception line, amused that when Cassandra reaches the front, she dips into a curtsy that really doesn’t suit her.

“Your Majesty,” she says, and while her eyes are hollow with grief from Yannick’s death, there’s unmistakable respect in her tone. “You make a fierce queen.”

“Thank you,” I say, and then she’s gone, giving the next vampire in line a turn to pay his respects.

I see Morgan, Abigail, and Abigail’s husband, Xavier, as well. They’re encouraging, although they don’t say anything overly personal, given that we have an audience.

The last of the clan members offer their respects, and the crowd begins to thin out. Eventually, only Morgan, Abigail, Xavier, and Cassandra remain.

“Where’s Blaze?” I ask Morgan.

“He was tired. He already went back.”

She has that guarded look in her eyes—the same one from our chat on the roof.

I guess they haven’t worked out their issues yet.

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